So Wrong, but So True

Go the Fuck to Sleep
by Adam Mansbach
Illustrated by Ricardo Cortes
Published by Canongate Books
4 Out of 5 Stars

Even though I will vehemently deny it around people who know me, every once in a while I look at all the people who suck in the world and think I owe it to humanity to procreate. Why? Because, and I don't want to undersell this, I really think my children would be awesome. However, there are three primary reasons I have thus far refused to give in to any maternal instinct: 1) pregnancy and childbirth hold no appeal whatsoever as I don't think the whole host/parasite dynamic is that magical, 2) with my luck, my children would be cheerleaders and football players--and I just can't risk that, and 3) I would be the type of parent who would tell my kid to go the fuck to sleep--at least until they had the ability to mimic everything I said. I have proof of this because of the summer I baby-sat my 6 month old nephew. That child may never remember it, but during those two months he heard language normally only uttered by drunken sailors on leave--albeit in a sweet, sing-songy voice. And the only thing I wanted from him all summer was for him to go to frackin' sleep so I could read. That summer I learned why it's called baby-sitting (literally, that's all you can do--sit and watch the baby) and why I probably should not consider being a parent.

It's also because of that summer that I can understand the frustration of the narrator in this book. I also highly recommend listening to the audio version narrated by Samuel L. Jackson while reading. No one can throw down vulgarities like my man Samuel. He perfectly captures a loving, but tired parent's increasing tension and frustration while trying to coax a young'un into sleep until he finally reaches a Jules "And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger" Winnfield crescendo. And. It. Is. Awesome. 

What Happens in Lost Vegas (Is Dull Enough to Stay in Lost Vegas)

Lost Vegas
Written by Jim McCann
Illustrated by Janet Lee
Published by Image Comics
2 Out of 5 Stars

Lost Vegas was a limited series from Image Comics (normally a safe-bet for unusual, creative, and intellectual comics) that started with serious promise and ended with a serious letdown. 

The premise of Lost Vegas is that Roland, a gambler who stacks the deck in his favor whenever possible, is forced into indentured service on the pleasure ship, Lost Vegas, when a card game goes wrong. Lost Vegas offers all the thrills, pageantry, and adult pleasures of its earthly namesake. Roland, however, is the type of man who makes his own luck and it's not long before he cooks up a scheme to escape, along with a rag-tag band of misfits (aren't they always?), that inadvertently draws him into a high-stakes game of intergalactic politics.

The concept behind Lost Vegas isn't a new one, but its futuristic, outer-space setting had incredible potential. The characters could have been intriguing, the plot could have taken some maddening twists and turns, and the story could have ultimately proved memorable. So the problem? It told a minimum 12 issue story arc in 4 issues. The end result is a "wham, bam, thank you, m'am" experience for the reader; the canvas simply isn't big enough for character development, clever world-building, or proper pacing. In addition, there are some glaring and obvious typos in the final issue. 

The bright spot here is the lush and neon-splashed artwork by Janet Lee. While bringing the Lost Vegas in all its hedonistic, bacchanalian glory to life, her efforts aren't enough to revive the story line--its the equivalent of watching someone perform CPR on a corpse. You have to admire the attempt, but, damn, that sucker's dead.

A Look Back at My (Thankfully) Brief Love of Sookie Stackhouse

Ever so briefly I was a smitten-kitten for Charlaine Harris's Sookie Stackhouse series.  It wasn't long, however, before I tired of the predictable, formulaic plot of Sookie gets in trouble, handsome supernatural being comes along to help her save the day, and plot circumstances force Sookie and tall, dark, and handsome to part ways so that she will be unencumbered when embarking on her next supernatural romance.  These reviews have been left as is to document my whirlwind, yet ill-fated love of Sookie's story.

Dead Until Dark

by Charlaine Harris

Published by Ace Books

3 Out of 5 Stars

I read this book after getting hooked on HBO's True Blood. Despite having seen them in bookstores, I had avoided picking one up until then because, based upon the inexplicably cartoonish cover, I assumed they were some more young adult vampire nonsense. Clearly, that was a misguided marketing ploy.

It's hard to say what I really thought of the book because season 1 of True Blood is based on Dead Until Dark; as a result, all suspense of who did it and why was gone. However, I enjoyed the book far more than the television show. For one, the show has all of these revved up sex scenes that often seem irrelevant to the plot (I know, I know--that's kind of HBO's thing). I'm not a complaining prude here--it's just that, if they're included, they should be relevant and shouldn't seem so intent on pushing the envelope just for the sake of shock value. The book certainly isn't devoid of them, but they seem more reasonable within the context of the story line. 

Sookie is a promising character. Unlike the weak and whining Bella (who is my main source of complaint with the Twilight books), Sookie's got some spunk. And she, too, is different--a telepath, she has a power of her own that levels out the playing field a bit in her human-in-contact-with-the-supernatural situation. I also like the idea of vampires trying to mainstream into modern culture and demanding equal rights--kind of an interesting spin on things. I'm anxious to read the next novel so I can get a true feel for the series without any spoilers.

Living Dead in Dallas

3 Out of 5 Stars

Sookie Stackhouse is at it again, getting herself tangled up in all sorts of supernatural mischief involving vampires, werewolves, and now a maenad. 

These books are pure brain candy and a lot of fun with no literary pretensions. I enjoy the unique twists that stem from Harris's choice to set her vampire tales in the South (and not the South of antebellum aristocrats, but borderline trailer-trash South) and have vampires attempting to mainstream into society after being recognized as citizens by the U.S. government. 

While I enjoy the books and will continue reading the series, there were a few things that irked me enough to bump it down to a 3 star. Strangely, Sookie was one of the things that drew me to the series because she's not a helpless female so in love with a vampire that it consumes her entire sense of self. She's strong-willed and often gets herself into trouble during the daylight hours when Vampire Bill can't come to the rescue. She's resourceful and reliable. However, Harris seemed to backpedal a little bit here with Sookie. She's pouty when she doesn't get her way and seems too self-involved to really be likable (yes, yes, she's gorgeous and she knows it, we know it, the vampires know it--I don't need to hear her rhapsodize about how perky her boobs are or how her tan is holding up or about every freakin' article of clothing she puts on or takes off throughout the book). However, there are genuine flashes of humor throughout and Eric is definitely becoming a more fascinating character.

Club Dead
4 Out of 5 Stars

Finally, I'm able to give a Charlaine Harris novel a 4 star. Club Dead is the best in the series and you can tell that Harris is beginning to work through some of the weaknesses that I've noted in the first two books. One thing that Harris has done right is to realize that, once the star-crossed lovers finally get together, the audience's interest begins to wane. As an audience, we want the "will they, won't they" tension. In Dead Until Dark, we have that tension between Sookie and Bill. In Living Dead in Dallas, the two get a honeymoon period of being together for an entire novel. But that would eventually get boring, right? And so, it should be no surprise that Sookie doesn't get her happily ever after with Vampire Bill. This isn't a bad thing as it sets up all kinds of interesting relationship possibilities for our favorite wrong-side-of-the-tracks Southern telepath. Will she fall for Alcide, the werewolf, or Eric, the Viking vampire? Decisions, decisions. 

Some things that I like about the series include the working class Southern references. For instance, Sookie and Alcide actually go to a Wal-Mart at one point and Alcide, though a werewolf, has to make a living by day as a land surveyor. For the most part, the supernaturals in Harris books actually mainstream into the human world, socially, politically, and financially. They're not the independently wealthy, old money vampires of Anne Rice's world. Instead, they appear to be average people who just happen to--surprise!--be vampires, werewolves, shifters, telepaths, etc.

My one irritant: the means by which Harris severed the relationship between Sookie and Bill. It seemed so out of character for Bill. From the very first page of the novel I thought, "This is not the Vampire Bill of the first two novels." Nothing really explains this sudden shift in character, nor is his attraction to Lorena ever adequately explained. Harris whips up a short little background story told by Eric to explain this bizarre behavior away, but it just doesn't gel. Oh, well. Her only other option would have been to kill him off and I did not need another "New Moon-esque" experience of the heroine bemoaning the loss of her lover and wallowing in self-pity. At least Sookie maintains her dignity and the ending is very fitting for a spunky Southern girl with a mind of her own.

Dead to the World

3 Out of 5 Stars

After thoroughly enjoying Club Dead, this one fell short of my expectations. When Sookie finds Eric Northman (the Viking vampire who owns the vampire bar Fangtasia in modern day Shreveport, Louisiana) on the side of the road, he seems dazed and disoriented. And with good reason--he's lost his memory. Gone is the smug, sarcastic, and arrogant Eric that Sookie's always known and, in his place, is a scared and dependent vampire. And that's part of why I didn't like this as much--Eric's just not as much fun in this one. 

I won't wax profound over this novel. These books are the equivalent of cheesecake bites--they're addictive and you feel a little guilty for indulging in one because this is not great literature. In fact, the writing really is pretty terrible, but what she lacks in writing skill Harris makes up for in a vivid imagination and a savvy for knowing how to keep us interested in the life of Sookie Stackhouse.

Girls Need More Coraline, Less Barbie

Coraline
by Neil Gaiman
Published by HarperCollins
4 Out of 5 Stars

Creepy, quirky, and all things to be expected of a Gaiman novel, this is one of those books that I wish had been available to me as a young 10 to 12 year old when all I had to fall back on was the Nancy Drew series. There was certainly nothing this twisted and delightfully dark on the shelves of the school library. As a heroine, Coraline is a likable, brave girl who takes matters into her own hands when her parents are kidnapped by a dark force that should scare her shitless. Young girls, force-fed Barbie worship and Twilight-y longing for an undead mate, need books like these because, frankly, that much exposure to all things pink and sparkly eventually gets boring. I also like that Gaiman sidesteps the whole "it was just a dream" scenario and ends with enough evidence that Coraline's experience was just what it was--a daunting quest undertaken by an undaunted little girl.

The Triple Dog Dare

Darker Than Amber
by John D. MacDonald
Published by Fawcett Crest
1 Out of 5 Stars

Holy shit snacks. I can't believe I read the whole thing.

First off, let's get one thing straight. Reading this was a dare. All parties involved, including myself, knew I would most likely despise this book and find it a vile-coated offering with a noxious nougat center. I started to shelve this bad boy as "book rape" until I remembered that I had willingly agreed to subject myself to this slow torture and I didn't even have to be double dog dared. I'm that kid from A Christmas Story who willingly licks the frozen flag pole just because someone thinks I won't. I may need to reassess my response to challenges after this. Oh, and I should also state that there are likely to be spoilers.

In Darker Than Amber, Travis McGee and his whip smart buddy Meyer are fishing under a bridge in the middle of the night when somebody drops a perfectly good whore over the bridge (people are so wasteful--she had lots of good tricks left in her), chained to a cement block. McGee rescues her and thus stumbles upon a prostitution ring that has a habit of lovin' up and then killing its johns by dumping them off cruise liners. McGee decides this must end because whoring is wrong (*cough* hypocrite*cough*) and oh, yeah, one of the prostitutes has $32,000 stashed somewhere that's his if he can find it. 

So, without further adieu, let the hatin' begin:

A) You know, it's actually kind of hard to truly hate this book because it's so dated it reads almost as a parody of itself. Every man in here is all hopped up on testosterone and adrenaline, while all of the women are highly sexualized nymphettes. Men are meant for fighting and women are meant for screwing after the fighting is done. The only thing differentiating the men is whether or not there's a brain behind the brawn and athletic prowess. The only thing that differentiates the women is cup size and whether or not you will have to leave money on the nightstand after the screwing is done. 

B) From what I gather, Travis McGee is a beloved literary figure. Well, I can certainly see why. Nothing is more lovable than a misogynistic sea cock (which I shall forever think of him as after he describes having a cleverly hidden stash in the boat's sea cock and I thought, "No, sir, you are the sea cock.") One might argue that, no, McGee doesn't hate women--look at how many women have had the exquisite and life changing opportunity to experience his magical sea cock. One would be a dumb ass to argue such. Sleeping with women doesn't equate respecting women. At one point, Meyer tells McGee, "You like women as people. You do not think of them as objects placed here by a benign providence for your use and pleasure." To which I say, bull shit. I don't like the cut of that gibberish. All he does is objectify them. After a lengthy description of their sexual attributes--after every swell of breast has been noted, after every curve of hip has been cataloged  after every ass has been analyzed--he immediately culls these potential sexual conquests into one of two categories: worthy of the sea cock and not worthy of the sea cock. Depending upon to which group a woman belongs, she can expect to be called "kitten," "pussycat," "honey," "broad," "punchboard," "slut," "whore," or "bitch." I detect a strong whiff of misogyny in the air.

C.a) But at least McGee uses his sexual prowess for good sometimes. In the beginning of the novel, he regales us with the story of Vidge, a housewife who worries that she has become "frigid" after her domineering husband has made her doubt her own sexuality. Poor Vidge. She'll never enjoy sex again. Paging Dr. Cock! Dr. Sea Cock! Oh, McGee has the cure for what ails her. He takes her "swimming, fishing, beachcombing, skindiving" and then takes her pants off after he's tired her out to the point of least resistance (life was so much tougher before roofies) and reminds her of why it's good to be a woman. McGee found some "pleasure in the missionary work"--pun intended?--but it's something of a sacrifice because "dealing at close range with a batch of acquired neuroses can make your ears ring for a week." 

C.b) What's good for the gander apparently isn't good for the goose. Despite his admission that he's done his fair share of sleeping around, McGee seems to think that too much sex can ruin a good woman. From the philosophical musings of McGee: "I have the feeling there is some mysterious quota, which varies with each woman. And whether she gives herself or sells herself, once she reaches her own number, once X pairs of hungry hands have been clamped tightly upon her rounded undersides, she suffers a sea change wherein her juices alter from honey to acid, her eyes change to glass, her heart becomes a stone, and her mouth a windy cave from whence, with each moisturous gasping, comes a tiny stink of death." Right. So we women apparently die a little each time we sleep with someone new. But maybe that's because our morals have been compromised, whereas, when McGee shags nasty, he's just out there doing the Lord's work amongst the frigid masses. What an asshat. 

C.c) Sleeping with hundreds of women? Living on a houseboat? Specializing in frigidity reduction therapy? Does anyone else see a connection between Travis McGee and Leon "The Ladies Man" Phelps? I fully expected McGee to proposition a woman with the old, "Hey, sweet thang. Can I buy you a fish sandwich?"

D) After saving Vangie (the aforementioned whore), McGee seems to have respect for her intelligence and is actually proud of her refusal to scream after being tossed to her death. However, after a second and more successful attempt is made to kill Vangie, McGee seems to suffer from "When they're dead, they're just hookers!" syndrome. Suddenly, he begins rhapsodizing about how "she was a cheap, sloppy, greedy slut" and philosophically wondering, "Wasn't the world maybe just a little bit better off minus one slut?" This inconsistency in character continued throughout the novel and really made me dislike McGee because I felt I could never really get a firm hold on the character. Is he meant to be a likable scofflaw, a salty Casanova, a greedy knight in somewhat tarnished armor? And this isn't the result of complexity of character. What he say or does at one point in the novel is often at complete odds with something he says or does at another point in the novel. If anything, I'd say he suffers from a lack of definition and is often as 2 dimensional as the female characters.

E) I was baffled by the whole plan to bring down the prostitution ring in the end. It seems like Meyer and McGee go to some ridiculously complicated lengths when simpler ones would have sufficed. Like the whole hiring an actress to play Vangie bit or the buying a doll and making it look like Vangie to freak out her killer. Yeah, because nothing messes with the mind of a stone cold killer like the old Madame Alexander porcelain doll scheme. Those dolls are creepy as shit.

After finishing this book and giving an audible sigh of relief, I noticed the promo for the next book: "Now that you've finished this Travis McGee adventure, we bet you can't wait for another exciting case. To satisfy your craving, please turn the page . . . " In case you're wondering, I did not turn the page as this is where I and Travis "Sea Cock" McGee shall forever part ways.

A Haunting Look at a Brutal Crime

In Cold Blood
by Truman Capote
Published by First Vintage International
4 Out of 5 Stars

In 1959, four members of the Clutter family (Herbert, the father; Bonnie, the mother; Nancy, the popular teenage daughter; and Kenyon, the reserved and quiet son) were tied up in separate rooms of their own home and shot in the head. All of this took place in the Mayberry-esque town of Holcomb, Kansas (a poster child for "things like that don't happen here"), and terrified the local residents. There was little evidence, no clear motive, and a good chance that those responsible would never be apprehended. Once the perpetrators of this violent crime were captured, it was revealed that four people were brutally murdered for roughly $40, a pair of binoculars, and a radio. 

In Cold Blood blends the non-fiction story of the Clutter family murders and the subsequent manhunt for Perry Smith and Richard Hickock with fictional touches to create what Capote termed the "non-fiction novel." And what he creates here is beautiful and masterful: the vivid imagery, the skillful building of suspense, and the complexity with which the characters are rendered are all nothing short of superb. 

What impresses me the most is that Capote is able to build tension in a book where the reader knows the narrative--and he does it not only in the build-up to the murders, but also time and again as Smith and Hickock embark on a road trip filled with close calls and crime sprees. It is also admirable that details of the murder itself are not gratuitous; the material is not treated as tabloid fodder and does not seek to sensationalize or linger upon the gruesome. The Clutters are never reduced to a body count; Capote brings them to life in the opening chapters so that the reader is always keenly aware that these were people with dreams and frailties, friends and family.

To that end, he also refuses to paint the murderers with broad brushstrokes. There's no doubt that Smith and Hickock had criminal, even sociopathic tendencies (particularly in the case of Smith). However, Capote reminds us that they, too, were human and in many ways shaped by violent backgrounds and abusive childhoods (again, primarily in his depiction of Smith). While not absolving them of the crime, his portrayal does force us to look at the human behind the act and not just the act itself. 

The only complaint I have is not a fault of the novel; in fact, it's more likely a testament to how effective the overall work is. Capote made me feel for the characters too well and constantly being aware of its roots in reality made for a depressing read. For all of its strengths, I was certainly glad to reach the end of this one.

The Epic Battle Between Man and Nature

The Old Man and the Sea
by Ernest Hemingway
Published by Scribner
4 Out of 5 Stars

While this is not my favorite Hemingway book, I enjoyed it nonetheless. The plot structure is simple: just look at the title and there you have it. What is impressive is what Hemingway does with the plot. As always, Hemingway is a master of capturing the natural world in his often poetic prose. 

In the figure of Santiago, you have the Hemingway code lived to its fullest. It's the knight attempting to slay the dragon, the matador in the bull ring, the big game hunter in Africa. In challenging nature and respecting it, the old man and his fish are locked in the most classic of Hemingway battles--it's the will of man versus nature and, whoever wins, the outcome is always fair because they are equally matched in strength and will. 

Many critics refer to Santiago as a Christ figure and while there are undeniably many echoes of the story of Christ within the text, I see Santiago as representative of something finer and nobler that transcends religion. In his refusal to break down, give into despair, or feel pity for his situation, Santiago is the epitome of true faith (with or without any allegiance to Christianity). It's a simple story, but offers the reader much to think about without lapsing into the didactic. If you read the book, I also strongly recommend that you follow it by reading The Ancient Mariner chapter in Carlos Baker's Hemingway: The Writer as Artist.